Page 13 of Beautiful Secrets
Shoes crunch over the gravel, then stop about a yard away.
The Scots are still arguing.
There is no way I can open this door and climb out. I would be in full sight of the Scots, and they will not take kindly to a Vasiliev climbing out of their car. Not if the meeting did turn sour as I suspect.
But if I can get to the other door, I could open it just enough to slip out and—
No, Mika! This might seem like a bad decision, but honestly, it cannot be worse than staying. All I have to do is make it out of this compound. Find the main road. Hail a cab. That’s it!
I flinch when the car locks. There’s a mutter from outside, then the doors unlock. I try to make myself into the tiniest ball possible, my mind racing as fast as my heart.
How pissed off will Father be when he finds out I am gone? Has Lev told him already? I have a feeling not—I am sure they wouldn’t just let the Scots leave without searching their cars or something.
Lev must think I am somewhere in the estate. Probably thinks I am not brave enough to try and escape. That I am just off sulking somewhere. He will get into a lot of shit for not notifying my father straight away. That makes my heart clench with guilt.
But he could have stopped Yuri, and he didn’t, so fuck him.
He was supposed to protect me. That was literally his only job—and he could not even do that. And because of what happened with Yuri, Father went and arranged to have me married me off to Aleksandr. An arranged marriage, and a backhand to the face. That is the price I paid for helping Vanya. That was my punishment for bringing shame to the Vasiliev name. She’d have gotten worse, but Yuri had said something about dealing with her himself and Father had backed down.
Now Vanya is gone.
I will not stay in this house a second longer without my sister.
I am going back to Russia.
I have cash. I managed to find my passport. I do not need clothes and things—I will make do with what I have.
Resolve stops the faint tremors running through me just as someone climbs into the driver’s seat. There is a click, then the car reverses, making me bump into the back of the driver’s seat. But thankfully this car is a solid machine, because it seems the driver doesn’t feel it.
“Fuck!”
I jerk in surprise, clapping a hand over my mouth to silence my gasp.
Thatvoice. It’s that same man—the dark-haired one with the swagger. He must be their version of thePakhan, the boss of their brotherhood.
I fumble behind me, searching for the handle.
This was a bad, bad idea. As I touch the handle, something flies into the backseat, bounces, and hits my shoulder.
On instinct I grab it, if only to stop it rattling. And then the car pulls away, and my chance to slip out of the door is gone.
It is too dark for me to see what I am holding, but it sounds and feels like a bottle of pills.
The BMW crunches too fast over the driveway. I cannot stay huddled in a ball, balancing on my feet like this. So I carefully—quietly—sit on my ass and wrap my arms around my legs.
Marko’s sweat pants puff up the smell of his deodorant, and I wrinkle my nose. I loathe the smell of Axe, but his sweaty gym clothes and a stained hoody were all I could find in the laundry that would fit.
Just like Mother goes through my room and removes contraband—romance books, candy bars, my dignity—whenever she can, she also makes sure that all I’ve got to wear are dresses and skirts. But thankfully the cleaning lady hadn’t gotten around to the last load of laundry yet.
I know every patrol route. Where the video cameras are. No one saw me get into this car.
But when they are finished searching the grounds and come up emptyhanded, this will be the first place they will think to look.
We must be far gone by then—me and my mystery driver with the deep, dangerous voice.
I bite down on my bottom lip as a shiver of excitement races through me. Then I pat the pocket of Marko’s pants to make sure my wad of cash is still there. I would be screwed without it.
Thank God my mother doesn’t know about the loose siding in my room. That is where I have been keeping money the past few years—loose bills I find around the house or sneak out of my parents’ wallets and purses whenever they’re not around.
